


Fine Wine With Steak

by foxjar



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 22:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20460725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/pseuds/foxjar
Summary: Steak and Red Wine are reunited under yet another Master Attendant.





	Fine Wine With Steak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VenatorNoctis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenatorNoctis/gifts).

When his Master Attendant, Arla, brings home a fresh slab of steak, all Red Wine does is stare. He can smell the blood and despite its rawness, it's tempting — begging him to take a bite.

But he doesn't. Its scent pales in comparison to the real thing — the man he has come to know — so he scoffs at the meat even as his Master Attendant garnishes it with spices.

"I know you work well together," she says, sliding the steak into a pan atop the stove. Red Wine grimaces as it sizzles in the pan, taking a few steps back from his overzealous master.

"That's absurd. Who told you that?"

Arla smiles that toothy grin of hers; it's something that endears Red Wine to her even now. "You did, of course."

"I did no such thing."

The fact that she thinks he wants Steak around is appalling; the mere implication is abhorrent. Although they've been comrades in the past, Steak is a difficult Food Soul for him to tolerate. He's skilled in battle and loyal to a fault — always putting his master first — but he has always questioned every single one of Red Wine's decisions. He attempts to poke holes in each of his plans and dig out every one of his secrets.

Steak doesn't seem to understand that some things are better left unaddressed. He is a pest and there's no way Red Wine would have asked his attendant to summon him.

"Oh, you did," Arla says. "In your own way."

With that, their fates are sealed and Steak is summoned once again in a shimmer of bright light. Red Wine has lost count how many times they've served beneath the same master, and he's sure Steak never even bothered to try keeping track.

After he's sworn fealty to Arla, he turns to Red Wine, those red eyes of his peering into him.

"What's with that look on your face?" Steak asks. "Are you smiling?"

"Of course not," Red Wine says, covering his mouth with his hand. "Don't be ridiculous."

_It's so good to see him,_ he thinks. _He smells so warm._

_I missed this smell._

And thus the comrades are reunited once again.

* * *

Red Wine sits beneath a large oak tree out in their master's yard, and as the sun dips into the horizon, his eyes flicker toward the house — to Arla's bedroom window.

He made a mistake today. Arla, in her eagerness, had ended up hurt in battle, and it was a mistake for Red Wine not to anticipate her lack of patience as the Food Souls handled the situation. He's been with her for months now and all it took was Steak to break his concentration; his smell, his face, and his very presence are distracting.

It was a minor cut to Arla's arm, but Red Wine still feels the clench of guilt at letting it happen at all. A Food Soul who cannot protect their master is worse than useless — they are a detriment not only to themselves, but to everyone around them.

Steak comes to check on him after a few hours. Out of everyone it has to be him; the man who knows him best, and exactly which buttons to press to anger him.

Except he doesn't even try. He just sits beside Red Wine on the grass, leaning back against the tree as he sighs.

"What is it?" Red Wine asks, as if Steak's silence alone accused him of some crime. "I'm just watching over her."

"And I'm just watching over you." There's almost a taunt there — begging to start their next spat. But to Red Wine's surprise, he's able to contain himself. "It's still bothering you, isn't it? Your condition."

Red Wine licks his lips. It's true that he's been thinking about it more than usual lately, but this isn't something he's willing to discuss with Steak, of all people. Maybe the shallow cut Arla suffered today threw him off guard more than he expected — the coppery scent flooding his nose — but Steak doesn't need to know this.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he snaps, composure seeping out of him like the substance he so desperately craves.

"The bloodlust," Steak says, his voice oddly calm. He's always been loyal — to his master as well as Red Wine — but he's never been sensitive to his plight. "I can see it in your eyes. Why do you fight it so desperately?"

Red Wine closes his eyes for a moment, soaking in the words before he snaps them back open. The light in Arla's room is still off; she is still resting. Safe. For a single moment, his watch had ceased. He promised himself that wouldn't happen ever again.

"You're being absurd." Red Wine scoffs. "You know what'll happen if I —"

"No, I don't," Steak interrupts — so very like him. "I only know what you assume."

"I'll turn." Red Wine shudders at the thought. "Into a Fallen."

He could lose not only himself, but everyone and everything he has ever held dear. The idea terrifies him — of becoming what he lives to destroy. Steak would likely be the one to kill him if he were to succumb, and there is some comfort in knowing that his death would be quick.

"You won't," Steak urges, touching his shoulder. Red Wine shies away, turning to glare at him.

"And why is that? What does the mighty Steak think he knows that I do not?"

"I won't let you turn."

At first Steak's eyes are darting across his face, searching. If Red Wine didn't know better, he might think he was worried about him. But then Steak leans in so close he can smell the savory spice of his breath — of his skin.

Steak kisses him, soft but awkward lips meshing at an odd angle. Red Wine wonders if this is his first kiss or if he's just bad at it. Then he wonders why he's even letting this happen — why he's allowing this swine to touch him in such an intimate manner.

The pain is sharp and searing as Steak bites into his lip and at this, Red Wine finally pushes him away to fall into the grass.

"What was that for?" He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at his lips before the blood can stain his cravat.

Blood. The sight of it makes his heart race.

"I'm not turning," Steak says, a triumphant smirk on his lips even as he lies in the grass, chin covered in blood. "Don't you see? You don't have to hide anymore. Not from me."

It was such a small amount of blood that it doesn't really prove anything, but it's the attempt that strikes Red Wine. He risked his life in such a foolish manner.

_And what if he had turned? What would I have done?_

_Could I have killed him?_

Red Wine hides his smile with his handkerchief. He likes the way Steak looks with blood on his face. If he didn't have manners — like his uncouth comrade — he could lean forward and lick it right off.

_Just maybe._


End file.
